


As Big as the Universe

by Tadpole4176



Series: Snapshot [3]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M, Protective Erik, canon AU, kid Charles, kid Erik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 08:53:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4822865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tadpole4176/pseuds/Tadpole4176
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is struggling with being small and running a school when Erik does it so well. Erik tries to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Big as the Universe

**Author's Note:**

> This is really just me having a brief little visit to the Snapshot universe, partly because I thought it was wrong to have a total number of words of 99000! I do have bigger plans for after Christmas, but for the moment this is just a chance to pop in and see how things are going after they left behind that whole mess with Shaw in Glimpse :)
> 
> It's not too complex though, I imagine it would still make sense on its own.

Charles has grown.

It’s not, however, what he was envisaging.

For a moment he stands still nonetheless, as Jean excitedly dances around him, her young frame still significantly outreaching his.

She makes a mark on the wall, deliberately and carefully. “You’ve grown a whole inch, Professor,” she informs him, gleefully, her use of the title only adding to her mirth as she looks down at him, before she bends down to whisper in his ear. “I’m still not sure it’s enough to really be our Professor though, sorry.”

Charles has to concede that she’s right, as disappointing as it may be. As a, rather short, 3½ year old, he’s difficult to accept as a teacher for even the most willing student. He’s a fair assistant though, he reminds himself, and that doesn’t require the physical coordination or stature to write on boards or command attention the same way.

Erik has been doing better. He’s bigger, of course, tall for his age and older than Charles. And, if Charles can admit it to it, he commands a presence – possibly through intimidation, even small – that miniature Charles can’t replicate.

Charles has a cuteness problem.

He sighs, belatedly realising that Jean is still with him waxing lyrical about his inch of growth and most likely picking up on his emotions and trying to cheer him up.

“Charles?” she nudges him.

“Sorry, Jean.” He smiles at her.

“Go and talk to Erik,” she says, rather unexpectedly. “He’s got a surprise for you.”

                                                                                ************

It doesn’t take long for Charles to locate Erik, his mind gently reaching out for the familiar presence before racing downstairs to greet him, his friend surrounded by metal and a sense of smug satisfaction.

Erik has been working with Hank downstairs, beneath the mansion in fact, for weeks.

“Charles!” Erik turns to greet him, his strong, wiry body almost panting with exertion. “We’ve finished.”

Following Erik’s gesture, Charles looks up.

For weeks Erik has been working down here with Hank, on projects unknown, unwilling to let Charles visit or even go into his mind in case he discovered what was going on. Now, finally, he can see it.

Unbidden, tears come to Charles’ eyes. “You did this for me?” He reaches for his friend and wraps his arms around his middle, unable to speak for his gratitude, all too aware of how Erik feels about Cerebro, and sometimes Hank.

“Anything,” whispers Erik into Charles’ hair, almost too quietly for him to hear. “For you,” he adds more loudly. “Provided you don’t try to use it alone.”

In that moment, as he remembers the exhilaration of using Hank’s incredible machine, and his mind grasps the possibilities – the opportunities to no longer simply be a failed professor - Charles would have agreed to anything.

It isn’t long before Hank puts in an appearance, his enormous blue body emerging from a sheaf of wires that his fingers no longer seem designed to manipulate. “I think it’s finished, Professor,” he tells Charles, his fingers brushing wire cuttings from his fur. “We can test it whenever you’re ready.”

Erik raises an eyebrow, apparently making Hank nervous despite the size discrepancy.

“I mean it’s fully tested and ready to use,” splutters Hank.

Charles springs forward, his feet practically bouncing. “Absolutely,” he enthuses, stepping forward to the helmet and taking a moment to admire the alterations to the design over the original. A small, comfortable chair sits beneath the helmet, its wires clearly plenty long enough to reach to his new height, and as he picks the helmet up he realises that, whilst the old helmet might have fallen off, the size and weight of this one is greatly reduced.

“It’s perfect,” he tells Erik, who is now hovering nervously behind him, his thoughts radiating regrets about making this possible, alongside his need to help Charles to feel more comfortable with his situation. “And I promise I’ll be careful.”

He means it. Seating himself carefully on the chair, Charles slowly draws the helmet onto his head, his hand reaching for Erik’s as the other boy sinks to the floor beside him.

And, gradually, Hank turns on the power.

Just as before, the feeling is incredible.

Charles is no longer small, Charles is flying.

For a few moments, he simply flies, uncaring of finding new young mutants, or revisiting those remaining from his first Cerebro excursion so many months ago. Then, slowly, he begins to sift through the minds he sees. The young mutants who fly by him, some of them alone and afraid – reminding him a little of Raven when he first met her. He touches them all, gently greeting them and reassuring them, even if nothing more than their subconscious will ever understand it.

And the printer churns out a list of coordinates to match, perhaps even longer now that Charles is no longer concerned about the CIA or Shaw looking over his shoulder.

All too soon, Hank turns the machine off, bringing Charles back to earth.

As Hank busies himself with the machines and the results, Erik carefully steps in front of him and removes the helmet, setting it carefully on the floor before reaching for Charles himself.

“Are you OK, Charles?” he asks, his hands grasping each of Charles’ tiny ones.

“I’m fine,” Charles grins back, nonetheless allowing Erik to haul him from the chair. “Possibly a little bit dizzy,” he adds, one hand gripping tighter as his feet reach the floor.

“We’re going to lie down for a bit until we’re sure you’re OK,” says Erik, his tone making it clear that he will accept no argument.

Charles yawns, realising as he does so that it isn’t helping his case, then submitting to Erik’s manoeuvring, leaning against the arm that has come round his shoulders as it navigates him up the stairs and back to his room, and leaving Hank talking to himself next to the printout.

                                **************

Erik sighs, trying desperately to stop questioning himself or regretting his actions. How was it possible to kill someone without caring (albeit he’d largely been killing Nazi Jew haters, he reminds himself), and yet he is unable to do the simplest thing for Charles because he is so afraid of hurting him.

It’s ridiculous.

And yet. Charles has been asleep for hours, nestled against Erik’s chest as Erik silently reads in the dimming light.

Was recreating Cerebro truly a good idea, if it exhausted Charles this much? Even if it did provide him with a purpose he’d been struggling to find.

Finally, Charles stirs, his thoughts creeping out of slumber first and gently chiding Erik in his head. <As if being tired is really dangerous, after all.>

“You didn’t sleep like this the first time,” Erik reminds him.

“How do you know?” grins Charles cheekily, his eyes taking in their shared bed and projecting an image of them squeezing into the same bed as adults.

Erik rolls his eyes. “I remember,” he says.

Charles shrugs. “The universe was smaller last time.”


End file.
